A/N: As I hinted at in the first chapter, this story is going to get quite dark at times and deals with some serious topics.

Thanks to all the wonderful comments and reviews!


"LAPD," Deeks shouts as he pounds on the door three times, hard enough to shake the frosted glass panes on the side. The shouting ceases immediately, and when he leans closer, he hears the shuffle of feet and tense whispers.

After approximately 30 seconds, a lock is thrown, and Deeks automatically places a hand on the butt of his weapon. The door eases open a few inches revealing a woman who looks to be on her early 30s. Her face is ashen and there's a wild look in her eyes.

"Can I help you officers?" she asks, nervously licking her lips as her eyes shift between Kensi and Deeks. Even though she's average height, she has her shoulder wedged in the door so they can't see beyond her.

"We received a report that there was was shouting coming from this residence, Ma'am," Deeks explains.

"Oh, that was just my son." She pushes back a handful of tangled brown blonde hair, eyes shifting away for a second. "I'm always telling him to turn the sound down on his video games, but he gets so involved playing with his friends."

"So, there's no problems?" Kensi presses and the woman shakes her head jerkily, edging back slightly like she might close the door on them.

She bears no obvious signs of assault, no proof that the shouting they heard was anything more than a bad argument.

"What's your name?" Deeks inserts quickly, keeping his voice low and calm.

"Uh, Rowena."

Deeks nods, encouraging. "I'm Marty Deeks." He drops his voice so it's just loud enough for them to hear. "Listen, Rowena, I know how scary this probably is. I bet he's told you if you just do what he says, it'll all stop. Or maybe, if you say anything he'll make it even worse for you."

Rowena's breath shudders and tears trickle down her cheeks, but she doesn't say anything, so Deeks continues.

"We can help keep you safe and make sure this doesn't happen again," he implores her. "You just need to tell us what happened."

She glances back towards the door and then whispers almost inaudibly, "My husband, he did this." She lifts her overly long sleeve to show bruises running the length of her forearm, leading down to her wrist, which is swollen and almost certainly broken. There's a silent plea in her eyes as well as overwhelming fear. She quickly pulls the sleeve back down.

"Ok, is he armed?" Deeks asks, pushing down his immediate rage at the signs of violence.

"No." She shakes her head again, breathing more quickly now, hands clenching in her sleeves now.

"Alright, Rowena, can we come in?"

She slowly eases back, opening the door wider to let them in. Behind him, Kensi places her hand on her gun, just to be safe as Deeks walks through into a small family area. He's immediately met by a man a few inches shorter than him, arms crossed confrontationally, pale blue eyes malevolent.

"Hey, I didn't give you permission to come in here!" he says, shooting a glare at his wife. "I don't know what she told you, but she's clumsy. She's always falling over things, hurting herself."

"Mark," she whispers, pleading again.

Mark makes a move towards Deeks, apparently not cowed by the badges, guns, or the difference in height. Deeks is prepared to lay him out if he so much as lays on hand on either him or Kensi, there's a soft whimper that comes from somewhere outside the room.

Ignoring the Mark's protestations, Deeks pushes past him. A hand lands on his shoulder as the Mark growls,

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He doesn't get farther than that, and by the time Deeks has spun around, Kensi is pulling Mark back and pushing him to the ground. Rowena sobs behind as Kensi wrenches her arms behind his back.

"I got him," Kensi assures him when he catches her eyes. He hears the snap of handcuffs and Kensi beginning to read Mark his rights.

Drawing his gun just to be on the safe side, he carefully walks the short distance into a kitchen. Broken plates and dishes litter the floor, and it looks like the entire surface of the dining table had been cleared off, the table cloth and flowers a tangled mess at the base.

He edges around a shattered vase, scanning the room. He almost missed the little boy tucked in the minuscule space between two cabinets, his face pressed into his raised knees.

Deeks tucks his gun away before slowly approaching.

"Taylor?"

The little boy flinches, head jerking up as he scoots back even though there's nowhere to go. There's blood on his face, and his shirt. A lot of it.

Dropping into a crouch, Deeks keeps a few feet back, knowing showing any extreme emotion or rushing will have Taylor shutting down completely.

"Hey, I'm Marty. I'm a cop."

"Like Marshall?" he asks softly hopefully. A few tears spill over his eyes, making a track through the blood.

"Yeah. Yeah, just like Marshall," Deeks says encouragingly. "I came to help you."

Taylor sniffles, seeming to remember why he's there and sinks back into himself a little more.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not going to smoke you do anything you don't want to," he promises. "Can you tell me what happened."

Looking down at his knees, Taylor peeks up through his eyelashes. "Daddy got really loud again. He threw all the dishes and hurt mommy."

Deeks heart clenches at the fear in his voice. He's probably only 4-5 years old, and his little world is a nightmare.

"That must have been really scary." Taylor nods, eyes glued to Deeks. "I'm going to do what I can to make sure that doesn't happen again."

"Really?" Taylor asks, so hopefully, it kills him inside.

"Yeah. But first I need you to do me a big favor. You think you can do that?" Taylor nods again. "Great. Can you come out for me?"

He holds out a hand, and Taylor stares at it for a few seconds, eyes wary. Then he's wriggling free and throwing himself into Deeks' arms. Deeks catches him, holding him tight to his chest as Taylor presses his face into his neck, his little body trembling.

"I gotcha, buddy. It's ok," Deeks mutters to him, rubbing his back soothingly.

"Deeks, I—"

He turns at the sound of Kensi's voice, hushing Taylor when he stiffens at the intrusion.

"Hey bud, this is my partner, Kensi. She's just like Skye," Deeks soothes him. Taylor looks up with wide eyes, a small smile twitching at his lips when he sees her.

Kensi does a very good job of not reacting to his injuries, but gives Deeks a pointed look, using her head to gesture behind her. "Back up is taking the suspect back. Mom didn't want to leave yet."

"Ok." Deeks shifts Taylor in his arms, looking him directly in the eye as he speaks. "It's time to go now." Taylor flinches away, all the tension back in his body, eyes searching the room wildly. Deeks gently turns his chin to face him again. "Hey, look at me, kiddo. Your dad's gone. He won't be able to hurt you, ok? We're going to see your mom and take a trip to the police station. And I'll be with you every step of the way, I promise."

Taylor twists his bottom lip between his fingers, then gives one tiny dip of his head. Deeks' boot crunches on something broken, and another wave of anger spikes through him as he walks from the kitchen.


Kensi rubs her left hand down the side of her face, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. It's after 11, the streets are comparatively quiet compared to day time, but she still drives cautiously, mindful of how tired she is. Plus, she could use the time to unwind before she gets home.

It's been an extremely long day in so many ways. Staying true to his word, Deeks had barely left Taylor's side while at the station. He'd sat with Taylor and Rowena while they were first photographed and seen by paramedics, and then separately interviewed.

The way little Taylor's body shook while the paramedic cleaned his face, and applied butterfly bandages over his temple and cheeks made Kensi's ache for him. No one should have to experience that, but especially not an innocent four-year-old. Only Deeks' quiet reassurances kept him calm enough to sit through the treatment. His mom seemed too distraught to be aware of much.

This isn't the first domestic violence case they've had, but it's always worse when kids are involved. Deeks takes it personally too; they're trains not to of course. He can't seem to help himself from approaching victims on a personal level, which is both effective as it is painful.

When she'd offered to drive him home, he'd accepted the offer without any protests, climbing into the passenger seat with an exhausted sigh.

He's been quiet the entire ride, which is so unnerving when he usually has something to say, even if it's just a few words. His fists are clenched tightly on his lap, his jaw so tight the tendon in his neck is visible. He's turned towards the window, so she can't see most of his face, but she imagines simmering rage.

Kensi doesn't try to engage him, leaving him to his thoughts, and eventually, she pulls up in front of the condo he and Sylvia share. He continues sitting there, hand cupped over his mouth.

"Deeks?"

He startles, inhaling once, quick and sharp, even though her voice is soft in the small space of her SUV. He turns slowly, an almost dazed look to his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he shrugs it off within a few seconds, though Kensi can tell he's still off.

"Sorry," he says on a prolonged breath.

"That's alright. Are you ok? I know today was…rough."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm just tired. I'll be better in the morning." He offers her the ghost of a smile. "Thanks for dropping me off."

"Always, partner. Call if you need anything," Kensi tells him. She figures he won't, and is glad he has someone at home to watch out for him.

"Got it."

He drags himself out of the SUV, slowly making his way up the driveway.


There's a light on in the den when Deeks walks in the condo, Sylvia's sitting figure silhouetted by the dim cast.

"Hey, babe. I said you didn't need to wait up for me," he says, stopping to lean against the back of the couch. He reaches out for her, but she leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair's up in a bun, and she's fully dressed.

"Like I was going to be able to sleep knowing you were out all night. What the hell happened?" she demands.

"I'm sorry, but we had a case that took really long. I texted you."

"Oh, it's always a hard case with you. Always some reason why you're running late."

"That's what it's like being a cop. You know that, Slyv." He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, head pounding. "Can we please not do this tonight?" he begs, taking a step back. "I had a really hard day and I just don't want to talk about it tonight."

"Don't walk away from me!" Sylvia hisses, outrage in her voice as she grabs him by the wrist, and yanks him forward, her nails biting into skin. He doesn't react mostly out of surprise; for some reason his mind and body always shut down.

"Sylvia, please let me go," he says softly.

"I bet you didn't hold back from 'your partner'," she replies, mockingly, fingers tightening once more before she releases him.

"This has nothing to do with Kensi," he snaps, scrubbing both hands over his face with a groan. "God, why are you so jealous of her? I'm here with you, not her."

His eyes are still halfway closed when the smack comes, his cheek stinging with the force of her palm. He stills, once again shutting down. Sylvia stares back, eye challenging him, stance defensive. When he doesn't move, she shakes her head, muttering under her breath as she rounds the couch and brushes past him.

"You can sleep on the couch tonight."

He's still standing there long after the reverberation of their bedroom door being slammed has stopped. Slowly, he lifts his arm. Tiny rivulets of blood leak from each of five small cuts. They burn.

A smaller arm, covered in bruises replaces his, a little face with blood and cuts fills his vision. Standing in the middle of the mostly dark room, he shakes.


A/N: I have attempted to approach the topic of DV as accurately (within this context) and respectively as I can. I hope that carries through in the final product.

Just in case anyone is not into the kid TV scene, Marshall and Skye are puppies from the animated series "Paw Patrol".